one shots and imagines and reader inserts, oh my!
by thisiswhatshefelt
Summary: a collection of one shots and imagines originally posted on tumblr.
1. happy knew (happy)

Happy knew that night.

Knew before you even said it.

Knew even though he couldn't say it back.

You'd answered the door at two in the morning when the jarring sound of his motorcycle woke you up. Probably woke half the damn block. There was blood on his kutte, but you didn't ask questions as he slinked out of the leather and started undressing right there in the living room. He left a trail of clothes all the way to your shower and you quietly picked them up to toss them in a heap on the chair in your room.

He'd showered and found you waiting at the foot of the bed with a folded towel in one hand and the remote in the other as you flipped aimlessly through the trash they only showed in the middle of the night. That's how you always seemed to be whenever he'd walk into a room to find you in it. Like you'd been waiting just for him.

Ignoring the towel, he walked over to you and placed his hands on your neck before pulling you in for a kiss. Water soaked through the t-shirt you'd been wearing as he pressed his body closer.

There were many visits during the night where he'd played the game. He knew nothing of romance, but he tried. Brought dying gas station flowers or asked how your day was and patiently listened. Held back when he fucked you, knowing that Croweaters and women he bought dying gas station flowers for just because he remembered the way they sneezed when they put too much pepper in the spaghetti were different.

They fucked differently.

Wanted to _be_ fucked differently.

Happy was too impatient tonight. He'd pulled at your damp shirt, growing frustrated at every moment he wasn't closer to you. On top of you. Inside of you. He'd found his way soon enough, and he was greedy in the way hips kept crashing to meet yours. You'd held his hands where they gripped your waist, feeling the way your skin subtly dipped under his fingertips like a potter's hand on ruined clay.

You'd felt no discomfort, though. Only wrapped your arms around the nape of his neck and whispered his name and God's as you took all of him.

After, he'd laid beside you in bed as you sat up, looking down at him begin to drift. Both naked and too content to find shelter under the covers. You placed a hand over his chest, bringing him back. Examined how the snake on his chest grow each time he breathed in. Your hand traced the underbelly of the serpent until your thumb met the slightly raised ink of a smiley face tattoo. They were all in a cluster, some with ink darker than others as time faded the rest. He watched as you mentally counted each one.

"Everyone says that you get one when you kill someone," you finally said, your voice even and strong.

"And if it is?" he asked in a gruff voice.

You ignored him, still looking down at his body. All muscle and tattoos. Only hard lines and firmness and a harsh, gravely voice. Nothing soft except the unsure way he'd asked you that question.

"Which one's Derrick?" you questioned, finally meeting his eyes for the first time since you watched him come. He stared at you for a long time before slightly moving your thumb to a smiley face tattoo closer to his hip bone. He'd never confirmed anything until then. Not outright.

"That bother you?" Happy asked, seeing you trace the scar on your forearm from where the doctors had to piece your broken bones back together.

The night Derrick threw you down a flight of concrete stairs at your Aunt Neeta's house and the last night Derrick came around.

Happy searched for any sign of fear on your face. He'd been this close before. Had tried to explain to other women that his day job consisted of more than just auto repair, but it never went well. He'd never expected it to.

"I'm not stupid, Hap," You told him. "I know what you and the Sons do. I know that you've done things to protect your brothers. To protect me. If…if these men were as bad or worse than Derrick…then no. It doesn't bother me." You settled next to him in bed and lay your head on his shoulder as you traced ink on his collarbone.

That's when Happy knew for sure.

Your hand slid up to his face like another serpent where you gently turned his head towards yours to kiss him.

"I love you," you'd said when you fell away from him before smiling lazily and closing your eyes.

Happy understood that you loved him despite his inability to say it back. Didn't care if he ever did. You weren't waiting for reciprocation. It was a simple fact, not a question. Unconditional.

He'd known then that he'd unintentionally found what everyone else around him seemed to have.

He'd had what Clay found in Gemma. What Jax had with Tara. What Chibs lost in Belfast.

He'd found you.


	2. franky & michelle (opie)

Opie notices her out of the corner of his eyes the moment he walks into the convenience store. A duffel bag is thrown over her shoulder and she's expertly slipping snacks and candy into the bag, being mindful not to alert the young cashier at the counter. His eyes meet hers, but her movements don't falter.

She continues padding her duffel with one hand and presses her finger to her mouth with the other, signaling for him to keep quiet.

It's not his business, so he has every intention of doing just that. Has every intention of paying for his pack of cigarettes and walking out of the store right up until he hears the cashier swear.

"Shit," the teenaged cashier mutters under his breath as Opie puts his ID on the counter. Opie wonders his offense but quickly realizes the cashier is looking past him.

Opie turns to see an older man hauling the girl to the front of the store by her arm. There isn't a shred of panic on her face, Opie notices. She hasn't tried to struggle, run, or even attempt to plead with the man, as someone in her position would normally do. Opie reads disinterest on her face for a moment right before her expression softens.

"It's not going to work, baby," she says, a small pout forming on her bottom lip as she sighs. "They caught us."

It takes Opie a moment to realize the comment is directed at him. He cocks his head slightly like a puppy who has heard an odd noise in the distance. His eyebrows raise and then draw together, forming a crease between his eyes. "What're you-"

"I'm really sorry about this," the girl continues, looking from the cashier to the older man. "He was supposed to distract you here while I got out the back, sir."

Opie's confused scowl is deepening while heat rises at his neck. He's staring at her in disbelief, but the men don't notice because their eyes are trained on the girl's act.

"I just came in here for a pack of smokes," he tells them. "I don't know what the hell she's talkin' about."

She shakes her head, "We can cut the act now, Franky."

"Jeb," the older man calls out to the cashier, grasping the girl's arm tighter, "Call the cops."

"Hey, hey-" Opie starts to take steps back just as the girl swiftly escapes the older man's grasp but doesn't make for the door.

"No, please! Look, I'll put it back-" she unzips the bag and begins unloading the food on the counter. "Oh, Franky, what are they going to eat now? Our kids, you see- they're just so hungry, and this is all I could think of since he got laid off from the factory. We just spent the last of our money on their breakfast. We shouldn't have been stealing. W-we weren't thinking straight, just please let us go."

Opie is stunned watching her. He knows he should've been out the door five minutes ago, but he can't stop watching the masterful performance. He stares as tears actually well up in her eyes right before dramatically throwing herself at him. She manages to wink at him before burying her face in his shirt.

Under his chin, her shoulders shake, and he can hear her soft sobs. He knows this is all a con, but he finds his arm slowly settling around her frame. It's reflex, something she was counting on. Opie sees the older man's expression soften at the scene she's set.

 _She's good_ , Opie thinks. _Damn good._

"Alright, alright, Miss. Settle down." The older man's voice has lost its gruffness. "Jeb, hang up that phone."

Jeb hasn't even picked up the receiver. The girl eases out of Opie's embrace, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "What- what are you doing?"

"Just this once," the man says, putting the food back in her duffel bag, "I can maybe turn a blind eye. We won't call the cops."

"Really?" A sad, yet hopeful smile is burgeoning on her mouth.

" _Really?_ " Opie echoes, but his words are laced with incredulity.

"Yeah, just…the boss is gonna be back any minute, and he'd tear me a new one if he knew I was givin' away free stuff." He hands her the bag, and she gladly accepts, throwing it over her shoulder.

"I-I don't even know what to say, sir," she beams, locking her arm with Opie's. "Thank you so much! This'll last us until I get paid in a few days, Franky. Isn't that great?" She looks up at him, expectantly.

"Uh, yeah, that's great… _Michelle_ ," Opie strains, drawing out her alias through clenched teeth.

She breaks character for just a moment. Long enough to quickly raise a disapproving eyebrow at him. She faces the men again. "We should be getting back. Kids must be getting pretty restless right about now."

"That's probably best," Opie agrees as they both take a few steps back.

They turn simultaneously and head for the door, trying to maintain a normal pace. His hand is on the door when he hears the cashier's voice. "Oh, don't forget your ID!"

She and Opie look over their shoulders to see the man retrieve the card from the cashier. He's absently inspecting it as he approaches them. "Wait a minute, your name's not Franky."

A silence passes between the four that could only have lasted a few seconds but it feels like the rest of the afternoon has passed while they stand there. The girl's façade drops completely, and an impish grin pulls at the corner of her mouth.

"Whoops," she mutters before barreling out the door.

Opie grabs his ID and shadows her. He hears the man yelling profanities behind them and then the unmistakable sound of a shotgun cocking. The sound gives him enough motivation to keep running until he gets to his bike across the lot, and her footfalls aren't too far behind.

The engine turns over just as the man lets off a shot. It hits the ground only a yard or two from her feet and she yelps, stumbling to the ground. She's back up before Opie can get off the bike to help her.

"Get on!" Opie shouts. The man is loading more shells into the shotgun. She finally closes the gap between them and gets on the back of the bike. She barely has enough time to clasp her arms around his torso before the bike takes off. Another shot is fired in the distance as they speed out of the lot.

* * *

Opie feels her firmly tapping against his stomach four blocks later. He pulls the bike over in a park and turns off the engine. She's off the bike in the next moment with her hands on her knees, catching her breath. Opie doesn't realize he's breathing hard as well. They're teeming with adrenaline and share the next wordless moments coming down.

"So are you clinically insane or what?" Opie questions once his hands stop shaking.

"I don't think so," she answers. "At least, I haven't been diagnosed formally. Psychiatrist hasn't mentioned anything."

He chuckles lightly, not exactly sure if she's telling the truth or messing with him again. She takes the ID card that he doesn't even realize is clutched between his hand and the handlebars. She inspects the name quickly before handing it back.

"Hmm, Harry," she says, studying his face as if to see if it fits his face. "You looked more like a Franky at the time."

He almost tells her the nickname but thinks better of it. This isn't the time or place to get into conversations about childhood nickname origins. And she hasn't even offered up her own name yet. Opie doesn't press her for one.

"You need a lift somewhere?" He already knows her answer. Her body language is closing off as the adrenaline ebbs. The question is only there to be courteous.

"I'm good right here," she tells him, securing the bag on her shoulder. "Thanks."

The sun is beginning to set, and the trees enclosing the park look more like shadows than greenery. "Take care of yourself, alright? At least, try not to get shot at."

"Of course."

He gives her a doubtful look.

She smiles and puts her hand over her heart as she begins to back away. "I swear on Franky and Michelle, baby."


	3. case of the ex (chibs)

"How can you tell if these are ripe?" Y/n holds a cantaloupe up to her face and takes a long sniff, simultaneously squeezing the melon. A month ago, she saw a post on social media, listing the ways to identify when a specific fruit had ripened. Of course, she can't remember any now that she's actually in the produce aisle.

"Ye don't," Chibs says, taking the cantaloupe from her and putting it back in the pile. "Ye don't pick it up 'cause it's an abomination to fruit."

"Even Abel likes cantaloupe."

"I've made it to mah bloody forties avoidin' cantaloupe. Kid's barely five."

She rolls her eyes at his warped rationalization before assessing everything in their cart. "Crap, I forgot to get lentils. I'll meet you at the register."

When she looks up, Chibs is wrist-deep in a bag of grapes he has no intention of purchasing. He smiles, which makes his dimples and manmade scars more pronounced. "They cannae expect me to buy them without takin' a sample first."

She shakes her head at him as she smiles and takes some samples of her own. Before long she makes it to the aisle with dried beans and starts scanning the shelves.

"Y/n?" a familiar voice calls out. She immediately recognizes the approaching figure as her ex-boyfriend. "I knew that was you!"

"Oh, my _gosh_! Kevin, _hi_! How long has it _been_?" Y/n hopes he can't read the lackluster timbre suddenly present in her voice. She can't seem to stop the vocal fry as she greets him.

"About a year, I think. Where've you been hiding? You look…" Kevin's eyes scan her body more thoroughly than she's searched the aisle for lentils. "You look great."

"Yeah, uh, so do you."

She means what she says but doesn't quite mean it the way Kevin would have hoped. He _does_ look great, but the plaid shirt and skinny jeans she once found quirky doesn't intrigue her anymore. His head is shaved in an undercut, and the rest of his kinky curls are fanned out in a ponytail. Hair she used to spend hours playing in makes her grimace once she realizes that it's about the tenth undercut she's seen since entering the supermarket.

Kevin misreads the compliment, finding his way around his cart to pull her in a hug.

"Oh, okay, sure, we're doing this," Y/n mumbles in surprise as he rocks her from side to side with a groan. She lazily taps his back, waiting out the hug like a bad storm.

"Lass?" she hears Chibs behind her. She pries out of Kevin's embrace and does a half-turn as Chibs glides the cart alongside her. His face is creased with skepticism and does nothing to hide his contempt.

"Babe, this is Kevin," she introduces, gesturing an open hand in front of her. "Kevin, this is my boyfriend, Filip."

"Kevin, the _ex_?" Chibs questions without taking an eye of the guy before him.

"Yes, 'Kevin, the ex,'" Y/n exaggerates her words with air quotes, mocking Chibs' Scottish accent in the process.

Kevin wears a goofy, oblivious smile as he extends a hand towards Chibs. "You're Irish? That's so rad. Good to meet you."

Chibs eyes Kevin suspiciously before accepting his hand. Y/n notices the immediate wince on Kevin's face when Chibs shakes his hand, and it's present until he's released from the tight grip. Chibs' arm finds its way around her waist just then, pulling her close to him. She bites her lip to keep from laughing as he suggestively palms her hip.

Before Chibs decides to break out a ruler, she speaks up. "We really have to get going, Kevin."

Kevin nods, walking back behind the cart and using it almost as a barrier. "It was really nice seeing you again. Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime. Catch up?"

Before Y/n has a chance to turn him down, Chibs answers for her. "Yer alright, mate."

Kevin chuckles, attempting to ease the tension. "It's not like that, man. I just wanted-"

"Aye," Chibs' voice rumbles low in his chest. "I know what ye just wanted, and I said, _yer alright_."

Chibs glares at Kevin for a moment, daring him to say anything more. Kevin puts up his hands in defeat and steers his cart out of the aisle with Chibs watching until he was out of view.

Y/n smacks his arm with the bag of dried lentils as she laughs. "He was being friendly."

Chibs cocks his head slightly with a dull, disbelieving look in his eyes. "If one of _my_ exes asked to have lunch wi'me right in front of you- or maybe a Croweater…what would ye do?"

"I'd rip her tits off," Y/n says without hesitation.

"Just like I wanted to rip that stupid manbun off his head," Chibs admits, grabbing the cart. "Hipster prick."

Chibs starts moving through the aisle, and Y/n keeps a few paces behind to hide the impish grin plastered on her face.


	4. bitter fruit (juice)

It was strange, but sitting in that tree brought Juan the most solace he'd felt in a while. His legs dangled in the air as if he were a child who was simply too small for the dining room chair. The large metal links in his hand gleamed in the moonlight, each piece of silver shining nearly white. He was lost in the sounds of cricket song and rustling leaves. Nature seemed to be welcoming him, calling him back to a home he never knew he'd left.

Up in that tree, he was far away from the ghost of his father, Roosevelt, or Miles. Just a few yards off the ground, and he was the furthest from himself he'd ever been. Juan didn't know if he believed in any form of a god, but he tried to make peace with whoever or whatever was listening now. After the first few sins, he realized it was all too much to atone for, so he settled for gently whispering 'I'm sorry' into a passing breeze before wrapping the cool metal around his neck and clipping one link to the other. And then he jumped.

The fall was quicker than he'd imagined. The recoil of the chain reminded him of the first time he'd fired a gun. He remembered his brothers laughing while he massaged his sore shoulder days after.

 _Christ, why that memory?_

He'd heard that important memories in your life flashed before death, but this wasn't a reel of his greatest hits. Firing the gun and the laughter that followed was the only memory playing in an agonizing loop. Their laughter was meant to ridicule, but there was an undertone of acceptance throughout that day. It was the first time he'd felt part of a family.

Instinct took over as he kicked wildly against the wind. He clawed at his skin once the pressure strengthened around his neck and he could hear singing-

 _Singing?_

Someone's singing in the distance grew closer the more he struggled. The voice was soft and carried on the wind like a bedsheet released from a clothesline. Like his apology come back to him. The branch suddenly snapped. He fell to the ground with a hard thud and the singing stopped just as abruptly. Juan rolled to the side, gasping desperately to breathe.

"Oh God! Are you okay?" the soft voice asked from somewhere behind him. She appeared then, kneeling on the ground beside him. The concern in her big eyes morphed into morbid realization when her gaze fell upon the metal around his neck. "Oh, I…" was all she could manage.

Shame transcended any pain as Juan pawed at his neck again, searching for the clip until the girl calmly reached out her hands to him as a silent question. He let her unhook the metal and it fell to the ground. He sat up against the tree and looked at the metal leading away from the fallen branch.

"S-Should I…do you want me to call someone?" the girl cautiously spoke.

Juan shook his head, "There's no one."

"Right…okay…"

He understood the failure to find coherent words. There were no white lies to tell. No way she could've misinterpreted the situation. No way either of them could pretend it was anything but this. A stranger had seen the darkest parts of him. Stumbled upon the sinew and guts before there was even a 'hello.'

The girl crawled closer, taking painstakingly slow steps until she was sitting beside him. Juan saw her hand outstretched again out of the corner of his eyes. Let me, she wordlessly asked. He took her hand in his and let their fingers lace together.

Juan looked down at their joined hands and saw how dark her skin looked against his own. Much darker than his father's. The wind blew her tight curls around her head, but she refused to push them back into place. Unashamed. Unable to hide even if she was.

The girl's voice came out low and raspy when she began to sing again.

 _Here is fruit for the crows to pluck  
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck  
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop  
Here is a strange and bitter crop_

* * *

It was the familiar sound of motorcycle engines that forced Juan awake. He couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep, but when he woke up, the girl was gone. He was face down in the dirt, curled up between the tree and the chain.

"Juice!" a voice yelled into the darkness. "Juicy boy!"

He put on his hood and his best smile before following the sounds of his brothers.


	5. deputy charming (david hale)

You finally made it out of the grocery store with two arms full of groceries and with every swish of your hips, the bags slipped a little more from your hands. As you turned the corner, the levy finally broke and the contents of your bag spilled along the sidewalk and onto someone's lawn. You were picking up the fallen produce and toiletries from the ground when you heard a car pull up along the curb. Looking over your shoulder, you could see that it was a Charming patrol jeep with an officer inside who jumped out of the car as if he were G.I. Joe. He sprang into action, kneeling to help pack the groceries.

"It's fine…" You squinted as you searched his tan outfit for the silver badge that displayed his title across the shiny metal. "…. _Deputy Chief Hale._ I can do it. I'm sure you have much more interesting things to do with your time than help a klutz pick up her groceries."

"Besides helping an actual cat down from a tree, ma'am, this is the most excitement I've had all day," the deputy said.

"I thought that was a fireman's job," you said, pausing to pick up the jar of peanut butter.

"Not when the cat belongs to your own Gran," he said with a small laugh.

You giggled slightly, picking up the last of your items and standing simultaneously with the Deputy.

"Get in, I'll take you and your groceries home safe."

"That's okay. You don't have to-" You began to protest, but he was already putting the items inside the back of the jeep.

"Ma'am, trust me, you're not getting too much farther with these bags." He took your other bag and put them in the back of the jeep before promptly opening the passenger side for you.

You quickly glanced at him and bit your lip to stifle another laugh as you got into the car. His uniform was perfectly creased and pressed to smooth out any wrinkles. He was clean-shaven with his hair neatly combed in place as if he'd followed a manual to get dressed that morning. It was an odd contrast to the balding Chief of Police you'd seen earlier, smoking pot with a few bikers.

"Thanks for this," you told him as he got into the jeep and drove off. "It's just a few blocks down."

"I know," he said, wincing at how his own words sounded. "You moved into the old Knowles place, right?"

You shook your head, raising your eyebrows slightly. "Does _everyone_ know that or something? You're the fourth person to ask me that today."

"Small towns don't carry a lot of secrets," he glanced at you quickly before setting his eyes to the road and gave a half smile.

"I'm seeing that," you said, pensively. "(Y/N, Y/L/N), by the way…but I guess…you already knew that?"

"I did," he nodded, smiling sheepishly again.

"And you're Deputy Chief Hale."

"David Hale, ma'am. You can call me David if you want."

"What'll the townsfolk think if I go around calling you David in public?" you asked, feigning shock and you could see a small crease form between his eyebrows.

"I mean, well, you can call me Deputy Hale in public," David stammered.

"And you suggest I call you something else in private? I'm not sure I like what you're insinuating. I've heard about you cops giving young women rides home and having them do _special_ favors."

"Wait…" David turned glanced at you again, nearly hitting a parked car. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as you read confusion all over his once stoic face. You could see the tips of his ears turning red. "This isn't like that- I would never in a million years dishonor the badge and abuse my power-"

You started smirking, unable to keep the charade up any longer. The Deputy soon caught on that he was the butt of the joke. "I'm sorry. My sense of humor is a kinda sick."

"Yeah, I'm seein' that," he gave another half-smile and shook his head once he pulled up in front of your house with the SOLD sticker across the FOR SALE sign you'd been meaning to take down for the past week.

You waited until you were both at the back of the jeep to speak again, "You're terrible at this, you know."

His eyebrows knit together again, "Terrible at what?"

"If you want to ask me out, Deputy, ask me out. With that, you got out of the jeep and picked up a bag from the back of the jeep.

You heard him chuckle and let out a weighted breath before joining you. He immediately saw the impish grin on your face. Normally, this all-American boy scout behavior usually made you turn in the other direction, but he seemed to lack the usual pretentiousness that often accompanied the persona. David was… _charming_ for lack of a better word.

He let out a short laugh before following close behind you- but not inappropriately so -up to the front door. With a small smirk eating away at the corner of his mouth, he sighed as he said, "Against my better judgement, I'd like to ask you out to dinner."

"And what's your better judgement telling you?"

"That you're a damn handful," he said, making you laugh.

"I'm free tomorrow night at 6, if you decide to keep ignoring your better judgement."

You opened your door and took the bag from him, then went inside without another word.


	6. impromptu (happy)

"Look who found mommy's makeup," I sing, masking my frustration with the cheerful baby voice I use on my toddlers.

I was in the kitchen, getting the boys their lunch when it happened. Had only been gone for thirty seconds when I came back to the living room to find Tacoma using my lipstick like a crayon. He had drawn a red line under his eye and was making a way to his brother, Davidson, the co-conspirator.

"How does mommy's YSL lipstick feel on your skin, hm?" I ask, gently prying the ruined tube and putting it back in my bag on the couch. "Feel better than Johnson & Johnson?"

I retrieve the camera from the kitchen counter to focus the view on the boys.

"What do you have to say for yourselves?" I ask, playfully squinting.

Tacoma only smiles and pokes his face, smearing the lipstick across his chubby cheeks. "Cown." He then pokes his brother's cheek. "Cown, cown!"

"Cown!" Davidson echoes even more enthusiastically, slapping his small hands together for a round of applause.

"Yes, that's right! Clown!" I can't help my excitement, even though there should be some form of reprimand, but I'm so proud of the new word they learned and the way they try to mimic what they saw earlier that week. "Let's get you two clowns in your chairs."

I let the camera swing on my wrist as I put the twins in their high chairs and set their snack in front of them. The camera is back in my hand as I get a baby wipe and attempt to wipe the lipstick off their faces. They fight me every step of the way, each grimacing and dodging my hands the entire time.

"The circus was in town last weekend, so they've been _obsessed_ with clowns-"

"Cown!" Davidson squeals again, laughing with his mouth full of fruit.

I turn the camera on myself on my way back to the kitchen. "They need to go to the park today. They have way too much energy to be stuck inside all day. Which is why they're all up in my bag, just lookin' for a mess to get into. And these two-" I point the camera down at my swollen belly, then back up to my face. "-they're milly rockin' in there or something. I'm gonna have to get someone to babysit them a few hours a day so I can get some rest. The doctor doesn't want me pushing it."

As I ramble about a few other things, I fill their sippy cups with water and head back to the living room to place the cups on the high chair trays. Their once clean faces are now smeared with fruit and juice.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you guys! Davey did a button! I didn't have the camera, but I'll try to film him later and see if he does it. He keeps trying to show his brother, but T's not that patient when it comes to-"

The door opens, interrupting my narration. Happy walks inside, and I'm still doing that baby voice when I greet him. "Daddy's home."

My excitement prompts the boys to fall into a chorus of 'daddy' as they wiggle in their high chairs.

"Turn it off," Happy tells me, and I immediately catch the edge to his voice and the tension in his shoulders. The camera's off in the next moment, and I let it hang on my wrist like a charm.

"What's wrong?" I ask, knowing he can't get into the details right now, but I don't need the details. I just need to hear him speak because I can always tell how deep the club's in it by the way he responds. He doesn't know I can gauge the danger or lack thereof, but I've gotten good at reading him in times like these.

"We need to go to TM," Happy tells me as he stands behind the boys and palms their head like basketballs. They both look up at him and claw at his hands, but Happy doesn't mind as they leave fruit handprints all over his hands and wrists.

" _Now?_ I was taking the boys to the park later. Besides, I thought you wanted to introduce me at that dinner this weekend." I do nothing to hide the panic in my _own_ voice, and I look down at myself, forgetting if I was presentable enough to meet the family.

I was in old faithful: my dark gray, spaghetti strap maxi dress. Not exactly rags, but I had been wearing it at least once a week for the last month because of the forgiving material. Much duller than the cute outfit I'd planned to impress his family with at the dinner, but a lockdown always trumped impending plans. You came as you were, and you came as fast as you could. As long as my boys were safe, I didn't care if I met SAMCRO in a ball gown or a t-shirt and raggedy bonnet.

"Is it bad?" I ask a little softer this time.

He shakes his head, reassuring me. "Just shit with the Nords. Overnight at the most."

I believe him. Though there's tension in his muscles, it's not nearly as bad as the lockdown we'd gone through in Washington last year.

"Chit!" Davidson mimics his father, laughing through his nose, and I give Happy a stern look before passing it on to Davidson.

" _Davidson_." My voice is fully void of the soft baby tone when I say his name.

"Oh oh," Tacoma says, looking at his brother.

"Oh oh," Davidson repeats.

"Uh oh," Happy says with an innocent smile before creeping his hands down under their necks. Their necks clamp down as Happy tickles them and they laugh uncontrollably while bits of fruit flies out of their mouths.

He tousles their curls before lifting the tray on Davidson's high chair and picking him up. "I'll get Davey."  
He throws Davidson over his shoulder in a way that makes a mother nervous. Happy playfully slaps Davidson's butt and grimaces. "Smells like someone took a chit."

"Happy!" I call after him but can only hear laughter from the bedroom.

I quickly get Tacoma from his chair, thankful Happy is here to handle the fussier of the two. When the boys are cleaned and changed, I pack an overnight bag for us and we leave the house. He drives alongside my car on his bike, stopping to make faces at the boys during every red light.

During the drive through town, I begin to get nervous. It has only been a few weeks since I'd been living in Charming after Happy's transfer to SAMCRO.

We'd been together in Washington for a while, but he was starting to spend weeks at a time in California with the club. It hadn't been a problem until I got pregnant again, and we realized it didn't make much sense for either of us to be in Washington anymore. I stayed in Tacoma until I could sell the house and had moved to Charming about a month back. Things had gotten hectic right after, so the formal introductions were postponed until Hap told me that the club president's old lady was hosting a dinner.

I had everything prepared- the perfect dish, something nice to wear, but this lockdown had thrown my plans out the window. I was being thrown into the situation instead of being eased in.

We arrive at the Teller-Morrow garage and the gates closed behind us. Happy has parked the bike, made it across the lot, and already gotten the boys and the overnight bag before I even make it out of the car. He has the boys at his sides, holding their hands as we walk inside the clubhouse. The few people who are in the bar were mostly club members, save for some of their family members. They turn to look at Happy walking through the door with two kids on his arms and a pregnant woman at his side.

"This is them?" an older blonde guy asks with a huge smile on his face. "Aw, man, they're beautiful."

Happy introduced him as Kozik. That was enough to set off a chain reaction of greetings and introductions with the members and some of their families. My nerves had quickly left with all the hugs I'd been pulled into by men twice my size.

It always fascinated me how everyone in the club quickly took on everyone else's families as if they were their own. Juice had Davey in a superman pose over his head as he ran back and forth with Davey laughing hysterically. Tacoma was hiding under a table while Tig pretended to be a puppy chasing him. I spent some time getting to know the other old ladies while the boys ran around the clubhouse with some other children. I gave them lunch and soon after they began to get cranky, so Happy led me to one of the dorms where I put the boys in the middle of the bed with one's feet at the other's head.

"My little yin and yang," Happy said, coming up behind me and throwing an arm around my shoulder. "I gotta go handle some things in Lodi for a little bit. I'll be back in a few hours. You good here?"

"Mhm," I mumble, turning to him and standing on my toes to kiss him.

He then leaves, and I dive into my overnight bag to pull out my favorite slippers and camera. I turn it on and focus it on myself.

"Okay, guys, change of plans," I whisper. "I hope you can hear me, the boys are asleep right now. Daddy had a family emergency, so we're staying with them for a night or two. It's gonna be a full house, but on a plus side, there are other kids here they can play with. Anyway, I probably won't vlog until I get home. Just wanted to let you know what's up because I know the last clip ended weird. Okay, so I'll talk to you later, my loves. Bye."

I smile and turn off the camera before getting my laptop and leaving the room to work out front. Outside was relatively quiet now that most of the guys were gone. The few other families had gone to a dorm, so I sat at one of the tables in a corner of the room. I placed my laptop on the table and fit my headphones over my ears before starting to edit the video clips.

I'm in my own world, so I don't see the woman until she's standing across the table some time later. I take my headphones off and rest them around my neck.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm Gemma," she says, taking off her sunglasses. She gives a cautious smile, but I get it. This is the club president's old lady, and from what Happy tells me, they think of her as the Queen Bee. I'm just baby larvae in her hive. "Y/n, right?"

I nod, smiling back, "It's nice to finally meet you." I'm about to stand when she puts up a hand in protest.

"No, no, don't get up. I see you got a full house in there." She sits down next to me and catches a glimpse of my screen where her eyes light up at a screen cap of the boys with lipstick on their faces. "Look at those gorgeous babies. Where are they?"

My face lights up, too. It's uncontrollable when I'm talking about them. "I just put them down for a nap."

"You let me know as soon as they're up."

I smile, "Of course."

"I think I remember Happy tellin' me you make home videos of the boys. That's important," she says, giving a meaningful look. "You need to remember the little moments that seem like insignificant, everyday bullshit."

I nod, though I doubt I understand the full meaning of her heavy statement. "That's how it started: just a way for Happy to see what he missed while he was gone, but then more and more people started subscribing to my YouTube channel, and it kind've took on a life of its own."

"YouTube, huh?" she says, still assessing. She then focuses on my screen again and her eyebrows knit together. "Wait, is that the dorms? Did you film in here?"

I followed her eyes and saw that she was looking at a screenshot of the goodbye clip I'd just filmed in the room.

"What the hell are you doin' puttin' the club on the goddamn internet?"

"I didn't put the club anywhere. I always edit everything too personal or identifiable out. They don't know the boys' real names. Hell, I've never even put Happy up here."

She shakes her head, "I'll never understand the need to put everything online. Have people willingly in your business."

"As opposed to someone unwillingly in your business," I throw back, and I already know she's smart enough to catch the slight.

She glares at me with a cynical smile. "Anything that affects the club isn't just your business. If your hobby lands scrutiny here, then yeah, you better believe I'm gonna be in your business, sweetheart."

"Despite that condescending smirk you keep giving me, I'm not a damn idiot. I'd never endanger my family or the club. And my little _hobby_ helped this club the last time they came up short."

I don't realize how much louder my voice had gotten until I catch the heavyset prospect behind the bar, eyeing me as he wipes the same spot he's been wiping since the conversation began. She smirks again as she stands up and walks away to the kitchen.

Trying not to slam my laptop shut is challenging when I pick up my things and haul them back to the room. My first encounter with the infamous Gemma Teller leaves me irritated. But I'm also disappointed for Happy.

He seemed excited when he announced the dinner at her house, believing she would love me. He talked about her as if she was a second mother, and now I feel like I'm going to be letting him down when I tell him how the meeting went. How the hell had it all gone so wrong so fast?

I'm exhausted when I go to the room, and I don't realize how much I need to rest until I crawl into bed between the boys and find my eyelids getting harder to keep open.

* * *

I'm asleep until Davey wakes up and decides he needs company.

"'Coma," Davey calls out. He stretches over my belly as if it were a hill and shakes his brother, nearly pushing the other twin off the bed. Luckily, my arm acts as a bed rail while Tacoma is harshly jostled awake.

Tacoma's up a few moments later, and the three of us leave the room to find food. More families were in the clubhouse now, and that leads to more introductions. People are helping themselves to food, and I fix all three of us a plate.

After eating, some of the mothers with toddlers offer to take the boys across the parking lot to the swing set, and I agree. I'm supposed to be resting but instead I follow them outside and stand near the picnic bench with a watchful eye on the boys.

Motorcycles pull up a few moments later, and I sense someone alongside me. Gemma is standing to my right, watching as the boys park in a long row. I could see the anxiety run through her as she watched bike after bike, and she didn't relax until she saw that they had returned whole.

She goes to greet them, kissing Clay and Jax. The boys greet Gemma one by one and go inside the clubhouse. Happy stays behind to hug Gemma last. They were talking and looking over at me for a few minutes until they walk over to the boys at the swing set. Happy plays with them for a little while before jogging up to me and giving me a quick peck on the temple.

"Glad you finally met the family," he beams like a kid. "'specially Gemma."

I feel myself pouting slightly and watch as Gemma plays a couple rounds of down-low-too-slow with the boys. "Not exactly sure she likes me all that much."

His brows furrow, looking down at me. "What're you talkin' about? She just told me to marry you."

It's my turn to be confused now. I cock my head to the side, and I'm sure our faces mirror each other like Davey and T's when they're incoherently trying to explain something to each other.

His face softens into a half-smile. "C'mon, let's get you off your feet."

I look over at the boys, but he stops any objections. "They're good," he says, resolutely. "I promise."

I'm reluctant to go, but we eventually walk inside and through the clubhouse until we're back in the dorm. I sit on the bed, bracing my back against the headboard. He takes a spot beside me at the edge of the bed before pulling one of my feet in his lap. Thankfully, they weren't swollen today, but Happy decides to massage them anyway.

"So?" He asks expectantly.

I search my mind, wondering if I'd missed something on the way back to the room. "So…what?"

"So you wanna get married?"

I exhale a quick break, raising an eyebrow. "This your idea of a romantic proposal- ahh! _Easy._ Not so rough."

"If it was, would you say yes?"

I catch on to him now. He feigns nonchalance, but I can hear the undercurrent of uncertainty. I can't help but tease him. "What makes you think I wanna get married to you?"

"Two kids. Two on the way."

"Put _that_ shit on a Hallmark card," I scoff.

"And I fuckin' love you, obviously." He stops massaging my feet to take the bait, looking at me with a deep crease between his brows and at corners of his mouth. His exasperation is evident, his hands open wide, gesturing at nothing and everything all at once.

I shrug, "I'll think about it."

Without warning, he takes me by the ankles and pulls me flat on the bed. I let out a short shriek in surprise. He moves closer until he's hovering over me with the same scowl on his face that borders between anger and amusement.

"Nothin' to think about," he tells me. "Either you do, or you don't."

My hands drag light touches up his arms where I drag my nails across the stubble atop his head. "Remind me why I should."

He doesn't hesitate to accept my challenge, leaning down to kiss me. We're soon tearing at clothes between hungry, sloppy kisses. There's not much time for foreplay or build up, so I'm lying on my side just a few moments later, and he's behind me, holding himself in his hands before guiding his way inside me.

I forget my place at the feel of him buried deep, and I moan into the quiet room. A low chuckle vibrates in his chest behind me as he wastes no time to adjust before rocking his hips in a steady rhythm.

"Tell me," he demands, growling in my ear. My answer doesn't come fast enough for him. He takes my leg by the back of my knee and lifts it higher onto my waist. The change in angle is small, but it gives him leverage to push himself deeper. "Tell me."

"God, Happy, _fuck_ ," I force out through clenched teeth. "I want to."

"Uh uh, Y/n. Not good enough," he whispers. My hand reaches behind me, placing my hand on his hip, but he doesn't let up.

He's reminding me.

I love the way the way Happy provides and takes care of his family and protects me. I love his loyalty, and his tone-deaf honesty and all the other clichéd things that make someone want to be in a relationship, but I also love this here and now. The feel of the muscles in his hips flexing every time his hips crash against my ass. I love the way he holds me in place and fucks me, and the wet noises our bodies make every time his cock drives into me.

"I want to marry you," I tell him finally, and it sets him off. He doesn't falter as his other arm snakes under my body and over my chest to pull my back flush against him.

It's taking everything in me to keep quiet. I twist just enough for our eyes to meet, and as I expect, he's watching me. Studying me.

Happy's naturally a quiet person, not usually one for filler bullshit small talk in social situations. He says what he means and observes everything else. Sex is no different. I'm not sure what fascinates him watching me, but I always find his eyes on me when I'm close.

I try to be quiet, knowing that there are people walking right past the door, and he doesn't attempt to make it easy for me. He lets go of my thigh and his hand is suddenly between my legs, pressing his fingers against my clit in slow punishing circles. My mouth opens, but barely anything escapes as I come. He watches me, watches the torture as my voice comes out as quiet, strangled whimpers.

He fucks through my orgasm, driving it out. It's when he feels me pulsing around him does his movements become less calculated. Less fluid and more erratic until he stills within me. He holds himself there when he comes, holds me close as he breathes heavy and rests his forehead against mine.

I lick his lips and smile up at him before kissing him slow and steady. He gives me a few more lingering thrusts, now slick with cum before pulling away to collapse on the bed.

We barely catch our breath before there's a sharp knock on the door, making me jump.

"Yo," he answers, laughing at me.

"Need you out here in ten," a voice I now recognize as Bobby's said from the other side before his footsteps retreat.

"Don't they know we're celebrating our engagement in here?" I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm. He gets up and starts collecting his clothes from all over the room. I prop myself up on my elbows and follow him with my eyes as he walks back and forth. He stops when he's in his jeans and t-shirt and sits next to me on the edge of the bed. He reaches out to place a hand on my bare stomach.

"You know I'm serious, right?" he says. "I want you to be my wife. I'm gonna buy a ring, get down on one knee and all that shit. I'm gonna do it right." I nod, smiling up at him. He's up again and slipping into his boots. "We'll celebrate some more later. Maybe turn on the camera next time."


	7. a biker named happy (happy)

All Y/n wants to do is drink herself into oblivion, but then she thinks about the last time she went into the office with a hangover. On a _good_ day she couldn't stand to hear the project manager speak. Having to listen to his grating voice while her head throbbed was almost enough to turn her off liquor for the rest of the night. Almost.

Though she'd rather be nursing a bottle of vodka, she settles for a margarita. The buzz is weak and waning, but it's still a better feeling than the anxiety drumming in the pit of her stomach.

"There's quicker ways to get fucked up than that club soda right there," a deep, raspy voice says from behind.

"I'm not trying to get fucked up…" She throws her voice over her shoulder, but her words trail as a tattooed man comes into view and sits beside her on the barstool. "I was, um…just trying to end my day better than it started."

She doesn't mean to be rude, but she can't stop stealing glances. The bartender hands him a shot glass of something dark and he finds her eyes on him. He holds up the shot glass between them, and she looks down at gesture for an embarrassing amount of time before she catches on.

"Oh. Right." Y/n lets out a small laugh before tipping her glass to his own.

Their glasses make an audible clink, spilling some of his drink on the bar top. She watches as he downs his shot quickly and motions to the bartender for another. Her phone suddenly makes an obnoxious beeping noise, and whatever's left of her buzz is snatched away. A text from the project manager flashes across the screen: _meeting at 7am_.

Y/n groans and flips off her phone which elicits a low chuckle from the man next to her.

"Boyfriend?" The biker questions.

"Worse," she informs him. "My arrogant boss."

"Tell 'em to suck your dick." He shrugs as if it's the most obvious, practical response in the world.

"Ha, yeah, sure. I can't do that." Y/n laughs at the thought daydreaming about how nice it would feel to scream it in Jeff's smug face the next time she's called 'sweetheart' at the office.

"You can. You just won't."

"What do _you_ do for a living?"

"What does it look like I do?"

Y/n snorts, wiping margarita salt from her mouth with the back of her hand. "Honestly? Mercenary work."

He grins but doesn't correct her or offer an alternative answer.

"Would you say that to _your_ boss?"

"Nope, 'cause I respect the person I work for. He respects me."

"Well, you're one of the lucky ones. Normal people usually want to murder the people they work for." She signals to the bartender for another margarita. "Speaking of, I could kill for some food. Do you guys serve wings?"

The bartender points to the short menu above his head. "If you order two plates of wings, you get a free dessert."

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she looks at the menu. "What the hell am I going to do with all those wings?" She mutters quietly to herself, but the biker hears her.

" _Never_ pass up a good deal." He points a finger to her as if his words are sage advice.

It's not a difficult decision, but she thinks about it carefully. Does she really want to order an ungodly amount of buffalo wings just to get a free dessert? Her stomach growls, _yes, damnit! the answer is always yes!_

She's more buzzed than she thinks because she then asks the biker, "You feel like wings? My treat?"

He grins, holding up his shot to her. She puts in the order for the food before clinking their glasses together again. They're an odd pair. Her in a navy pencil skirt and him with a tattoo of a snake atop his head, but they get their introductions out of the way. He goes on a small tangent on the importance of saving money. He pulls out his fat wallet which she initially believes is filled with money, but he opens a slot to reveal a mass of coupons held together by a paper clip.

"Wait a minute," she interrupts him in the middle of his speech about buying toilet paper in bulk when she catches a glimpse of his license. "Happy's not a cool nickname? That's your government name? Sorry, you must get that a lot."

"From time to time," he admits, and they begin to trade some of the weirdest names they've come across.

The food comes soon after, and she does a little dance in her seat as the wings are placed in front of them. Her phone buzzes on the table, and she sees that it's the project manager sending another text. _I need you to confirm the meeting?_

She rolls her eyes, breaking open a towelette to wipe the grease off her fingers.

"I _dare_ you to tell him to suck your dick," Happy says with his mouth full.

Lydia squints, contorting her face at his comment. "You dare me? What're you? 9?"

"I'm a grown ass man who's not afraid to tell someone to suck their dick." Happy offers a shit-eating grin that is meant to goad, but she ignores him. After a lull he says, "I double dare you."

She can't help but laugh at the seriousness in his voice. The phone rings, stopping her before she can give a witty remark. Despite the urge to throw her phone in a pitcher of beer, she answers the call. "'Scuse me a second. Hi, Jeff…yes, I saw your messages, and I was actually just about to-" She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, as she listens to Jeff go on about the team goals and responsibilities.

It's something that he's been drilling into her mind from the moment the project began. Jeff often spoke to her as if she was another of the wet-behind-the-ears intern rather than someone who has been with the agency for years. Tonight, with liquid courage and her tattooed wingman, she works up the nerve to tell him off.

"You know what, Jeff? Suck my dick."

She sees Happy's eyebrows raise as a childlike grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Her own wicked satisfaction is short-lived when her heart starts beating twice as fast. She clears nothing from her throat. "Err, I said, I think I'm getting sick, but I'll be there tomorrow, bright and early. See you then!" She ends the call, clutching her shirt before Jeff can properly say goodbye. Small wing sauce smudges decorate the front of her shirt, but all she can think about is being at the back of the proverbial unemployment line.

"Pussy," he says, shaking his head with a low chuckle.

"Holy crap, why the hell did I do that? Oh, God, what if he heard me? I'm getting fired, I know it-" The rambling is quelled when Happy briefly puts up a hand in front of her face.

"Stop." There's so much authority in a single word as he speaks. Y/n has no question that when Happy tells someone to suck his dick, they immediately drop to their knees in submission. "Are you good at your job? You go in and do more than just the bare minimum?"

"Yes," she answers honestly.

"Then they ain't gonna fire you. I'm around people like that all the time. They just wanna prove how big their stick is. If you're good, then don't be afraid to show them how big yours is sometimes. Wouldn't be blowin' up your goddamn phone if you weren't essential."

Happy goes right back to eating his wings, and she envies his confidence. He's absolutely right, though his delivery could use some work. The conversation shifts when she tells him about the electric razor company her team is taking on. He starts tossing out slogans, and she almost chokes, laughing at how bad they sound.

After the meal, they decide on a slice of apple pie for their free dessert. She cuts the slice in half and they share until Y/n pushes the plate towards him. She can't look at another bite of food, and he is more than willing to accept.

Before either of them knows it, it's nearly one in the morning. The bill comes, and Happy makes no attempt to reach for his wallet.

"You're really going to let a woman pay for your meal?" she asks, signing the receipt.

He nods, "I'm secure enough in my manhood for that."

"Right. Good deals and all that." She takes an awkward breath as they share a lingering look.

His stare is brazen and obvious, letting her know exactly what's on his mind. She considers it at first. Two margaritas in and the idea of this stranger's rough hands tearing at her stockings in the bathroom of the bar is exciting. Her phone suddenly alerts her that her Uber will be there soon, and she snaps back to the reality in which she doesn't have sex in bathrooms with random guys.

She takes another breath, exhaling all the retrospectively regrettable things she wants to do. "Anyway. I should go."

"Thanks for the food." He tips another shot glass up to her, and she bows her head with a smile.

"Thanks for the company."

In the backseat of the Uber, she's already in a group text, telling her friends how she stopped in a bar and had wings with a biker named Happy.


	8. balm (jax)

The house still feels full even when Jax gets rid of all the furniture.

 _Everything smells like her._

But it's comforting to smell her perfume on the couch when Jax is released from jail. He sits for hours at a time taking deep breaths and inhaling the heady scent like cigarette smoke. It's almost as if she's right behind him. Any minute now, she'll wrap her arms around his shoulders and tell him that the grass outside is getting too long.

On one really lonely night, he's drawn to her side of the bed. His hands are down his pants and he works himself over with his face buried in her pillow until it's too hard to breathe.

Opie would know what this was like. For a moment, Jax reaches for his phone to call his best friend. It's only the slightest twitch of his fingers, but it makes his whole body break out into a cold sweat when he realizes Opie's dead too.

* * *

The couch is the first to go.

Jax pushes it all the way through the front door by himself and dumps it on the curb. When Gemma brings the kids over that afternoon, she sees the determined look on her son's face and decides it's best for the kids to stay with her.

"I'll bring 'em back, baby," she tells him, kissing him on the cheek and taking his face in her hands. Her long nails are buried in his unkempt beard. He refuses to look at her or his sons, but he doesn't move away from their touch. "When you figure out whatever _this_ is…I'll bring 'em back."

He lines the curb with as much furniture as he can each week and helps the sanitation workers load most of it into the truck. College students pick at what the garbage men won't carry until the curb is clear.

When the house is empty, Jax begins tearing apart the floor. He rips up the carpet until his hands bleed and blister. He wants to sell the house off entirely, but no one wants to buy a home where a mother and cop were brutally murdered.

 _Something that brutal_ , District Attorney Patterson had said, _had to be someone close to her. Gotta look at the spouse or someone in the family. Nine times out of ten._ But it's easier to believe it's someone from the outside. He needs to hold onto that ignorance.

 _This is one in ten_ , he tells himself as he peels the linoleum from the kitchen floor. _One in ten, one in ten…_

* * *

Jackson's in and out of the house one morning when a woman stops along her run and approaches another one of his growing trash piles. She asks about the cost of a pillow that has fallen into the street.

"What?" he asks, irritation dripping from his mouth like the sweat at his temples. She doesn't waver at his brusque tone as she picks up the coffee-stained canvas pillow. "Sure, whatever, it's garbage," he spits again before going back inside the house. He sees her every morning after that, and she waves and smiles despite his grim face.

When the house is stripped, he sits on the bare bones of the place with his eyes focused on the expanse. He is next to the spot where he found his wife covered in blood, and he chain-smokes until his lungs are as raw as his home.

 _Yet the place still feels so full._

It was like he'd pushed everything out and made more room for the ghost of her. He only made himself emptier instead. And the house hadn't smelled any less like her, so he opens all the doors and windows, trying to push her out. He leaves to take care of club business for a few hours, but when he returns, everything is shut tight and locked from the inside.

Losing time and forgetting a few of his steps isn't new for him in the last few weeks, so he figures he just can't remember locking it himself. After two more days of him returning to locked doors, he figures that he hasn't gone _that_ crazy.

On the fourth day, he sits in the dark house the next afternoon with all the windows and doors open. Jax is on the floor in his usual spot when he hears footsteps. He picks up the gun on the floor behind him as he slowly stands up, ready to shoot whoever walks through the door. He sees that it's the woman who had been jogging past the house every morning.

"I'm sorry!" is all she can say with the gun aimed straight for her left eye. He sees her hands shaking in the air beside her head as she stands before him. His shoulders drop, and he retakes his seat on the floor with his gun behind him. "I-I just thought…I dunno, maybe animals would come in if you left it open."

"No room in here for anything else," he mutters before taking another cigarette out and lighting it.

Jax was on a steady diet of cigarettes and coffee, so he'd lost some weight in the past months. She notices that his jeans and sweatshirt hang off his body as if he'd borrowed them from a heavier friend. She backs out of the house and returns half an hour later, juggling containers of Chinese food and bottles of water.

It is merely microwaved leftovers from a few days before, but it is the best she can do under the strange circumstances. She puts one container of food in front of him and sits next to him with the other. A stray dog with an unpredictable temperament. He offers her nothing but silence as she eats with her back against the cupboard doors. The kitchen is filled with secondhand smoke and tentative chewing for a while. It's only when her food is almost finished that he reaches for his container.

Jax can't remember the last time he's eaten a full meal. Everything that touches his mouth tastes bland and foreign. And this time is no different, but he scarfs it down until he feels sickly full. Horrible tasting medicine he knows he needs to keep down in order to ward off a fever. When they finish she silently closes all the windows and doors before turning on the kitchen light and leaving the home.

This strange ritual takes place for the few weeks. They don't say much of anything to each other as they eat, yet every day, Jax leaves the doors open and she brings the food for their silent dinners. It was in the third week when Jax put his hand onto her thigh just as she was gathering the empty containers.

The warm weight of his touch between her legs stills her. His gaze is forward when she looks at him. Whether it's shame or apprehension or a mixture of the two, he can't look at her. She pulls his hand higher and writhes against his hand in crude response. Jax lay her down on the floor then, fumbling with his buckle as she pushes down her leggings.

Jax fucks her with the front door wide open, and their sounds no doubt carry outside, but it doesn't bother either of them. Even when they hear the jingle of the neighbor's dog past the house, their voices don't falter. He fucks her hard, pressing her hips between his and the concrete floor. Her head is in the same spot Tara's was when he found her, and that only makes him fuck her harder.

He falls against her abruptly when it's over. He's breathing hard in the crook of her neck when- just as abruptly -he begins to sob. She's under him, sweat and tears and cum cooling on her skin, and the only thing she can manage to do is finally tell him her name.

His sobs quickly turn into laughs and he pulls back to sit in his usual position.

"I'm Jax," he says, taking another cigarette between his lips.

Two cigarettes are finished before they hear the dog's collar jingle again as the neighbor passes back around. She gathers herself and leaves the house, shutting the doors and windows.

The next day, he keeps the doors closed.

He wakes up on the kitchen floor, missing his sons and goes to get them from grandma's house. As if a day has not passed, the boys run to him, and Jax doesn't let them go for a long time. He can't take them home- not to the shell he's created, but he promises they will come home soon. His eldest is sad and confused. Abel's eyes mirrored his own at only five years old. He's seen too much already.

* * *

Jax starts looking at carpets first. He sits on his concrete steps out front and flips through the five carpet samples, feeling each one for differences. A familiar face is jogging past and he signals her over as casual as ever. She takes her headphones out of her ears and sits next to him.

"What's good for small kids?" he asks, handing her the book.

She places the carpet samples on the ground in a row and takes off her sneakers and socks. She drags her toes across each sample. "You have kids?"

"Five and one," he tells her, watching as she takes her time, analyzing each texture with her feet.

"This one," she decides, picking up the sample from the floor and handing it to him. She gathers the rest and stacks them between her and Jax.

"What about couches?"

That weekend, they're at a furniture store where she displays a similar method of assessment. She lies down on different showroom pieces, imitating watching tv or lounging until she finds one that was the right color and comfort. He doesn't care either way. Everything feels foreign against his skin so he can't trust his own judgement. She is there when they deliver the couches days later and they have sex on top of the plastic covered furniture before rearranging them around the living room.

For the next month, Jax calls on her for advice about decorations and paint colors, but he is using it as an excuse to be close to someone who isn't as shrouded in tragedy as he was. He goes to her apartment and finds that her place is as eccentric as she behaved. She's an artist, so she surrounds herself with pieces, some being her own. He walked around her place sometimes, looking at all her artwork and each time there is something new to see.

During his latest exploration, he finds a pillow in a corner she'd deemed a reading nook. The pillow has been painted over with the image of a horned woman with thick, kinky hair in front of a wolf. Instead of fur, the wolf is painted black with tiny stars all over its body. He picked up the pillow and noticed that it is the same pillow she'd taken from his trash pile the first day they'd met. He takes a deep breath of the pillow, wondering if it still held the same smell, but he only smelled y/n with a faint scent of paint. That's when he realized he hadn't smelled his wife's perfume in a very long time.

* * *

When the house is finally decorated, he tells Gemma to bring his boys over. Abel doesn't ask about the old furniture as though he is afraid he'll get "sent away" again. It breaks Jax's heart to see the insecurity on his oldest son's face as he crawls into his lap that first night. They all stay in Thomas' room and sleep until late in the morning.

Y/n would jog past the house every day and sometimes he would be out there with the boys and sometimes he would wave.

"This is daddy's new friend," he tells the boys after calling her over one afternoon. "She helped me decorate your new rooms. Can you say thank you?"

"Thank you," Abel says quietly.

"You're very welcome."

Their first meeting is something scary for everyone.

Nearly a month goes by of sporadic meetings during her jogs where she'd talk to Jax and the boys about nothing in particular before resuming her run. He would invite her inside when the boys weren't with her or he would show up her apartment while she was in the middle of a painting.

A few hours at the house turned into overnight stays and staying over even after Abel and Thomas woke up. Somehow she'd ended up with a draw of her own and a space in the closet. He thought they were in a good place when he'd asked. It seemed the appropriate next step.

It had been almost a year and a half after. He measured everything by that day. Birthdays, holidays, the day she had asked for the pillow, when she'd been introduced by the club. Everything was that much time after July 16th. _One in ten._

"Why do you still have your place?" Jax asks. "We've been doing this for a while now. The boys like you. Just move in with me."

"No," she tells him as he's pouring coffee into his mug. She says it as if it was the most casual thing in the world, 485 days after. She's at the kitchen counter, wiping her lipstick stain off her own cup. Wipes so hard, it seems as though she might wipe the coating off the ceramic. She's nervous, something he's not used to seeing in her. "There's no room in here for me, Jackson."

"What're you talkin' about? There's plenty of closet space, and you can put your workshop in the garage-"

"That's not what I mean," she says, giving him a meaningful look. "Can't you feel that?"

No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the air inside his home always felt thick and weighed down. It was like a humid day just before the sky broke and rain fell. He just never realized that anyone else could feel it too. He wants to tell her that he understands, but instead he lashes out.

"Then what the hell are you doin' here?" Jax asks.

"I've just been waiting here, Jax-"

He swipes the coffee cup across the table and it smashes against the wall. "Jesus!" Coffee stains the walls as shards go flying around the kitchen. "I'm not in the goddamn mood for you to talk in circles right now."

The sudden demeanor change causes her to jump, but she isn't afraid. It takes a few moments to speak again, but it's clear that she isn't searching for words. Rather, she's finding a way to say out loud what they'd both known for a long time.

"I know that you only want me around to keep your mind off what happened," she starts quietly. "I'm just another distraction."

"You think I introduced some distraction to my club? _To my kids?_ "

She pauses again, choosing her words carefully. "Yes," she tells him. "I'm someone who keeps the spot next to you warm. Someone who makes sure you aren't skipping meals. Someone you fuck. But you don't see me, Jax. And I've just been foolishly waiting here, hoping you would."

Jax feels his chest tighten with every word, but he only shrugs. A noncommittal noncommittal. "If that's what you think, then just go. Just pack up your shit and leave before the boys get home."

He can see the heartbreak all over her face, yet she doesn't seem surprised by any of this. It's as if she had known this day would come from the first day they'd met. He stands up and walks to the kitchen counter to put on his shoulder gun holster when he hears her voice.

"I…" she begins, and at first, he believes it's the most benign word in the world. But then she continues, and it completely shatters him. "I'm sorry I'm not her."

He storms out of the house, but it's more like he's running. Jax can't get far enough away from her or that house, even as he doubles the speed limit.

* * *

Darkness has fallen when Jax receives a phone call. He's been gone for hours, zipping up and down deserted roads but never brings himself to leave his hometown's city limits. He stares at the LEAVING CHARMING sign. By now, the population on the back has reached 14,679. He wonders which number he was. Which number was she?

After the fourth ring, he answers despite himself and immediately hears the alarm in Y/n's voice. He was no stranger to panicked phone calls but never from her.

 _"I think there's someone in the house,"_ she whispers on the other line. _"Jax-_ Jackson! _"_ The phone call ends before he gets a chance to say anything.

He starts up his bike again and is speeding back home. Jax is thinking of every bad thing that has ever happened to someone he has loved, and he imagines every single one of them happening to her. The thought alone pushes his bike faster.

He has broken about fifty different traffic laws by the time he gets to his front door. He parks on the lawn and doesn't care as he drops the bike on its side on the front lawn. The front door is open and there's specks of blood trailing down the hallway. _Another dead old lady._

Jax calls her name as he looks for her through the house. He gets sadder, and then angrier with each call that doesn't illicit a response. He looks under every bed and opens every closet door but eventually finds her in the kitchen pantry with one of his guns pointed at her chest.

She hasn't answered because she's frozen with fear on the pantry floor. Her eyes are wide and her hair is a mess as she violently shakes. Sweat makes her clothes stick to her body. She flinches when the door opens, and he can see her finger tensing over the trigger for a moment. He quickly says her name again before she can pull the trigger, and his voice brings her out of the trance she is in.

The gun drops and she springs from her crouched position on the floor to his arms.

"Someone was in here?" he confirms, getting even angrier as he holds onto her.

"A guy- some fucking teenager just-just broke in! I got the gun like you said- I shot him," she frantically pulls away from Jax at the weight of her words. "Is-Is-Is he dead? Did I kill him? My hands were shaking so bad, I-I-I don't know where I hit him."

Jax notices there's a bullet lodged into the wall across the hall. "I think you just grazed him. He must've taken off." He wraps his arms around her and he feels her shaky arms envelop him once again.

He looks around the kitchen with all the new fixtures. He tried to dress it up with a pretty new sink and tiles that sounded good under his sneakers, but there would always be blood soaked into the foundation.

He slowly backs away from her and creeps to sit on the kitchen floor with his back against the cupboard doors. Adrenaline drains ebbs from them as quickly as it hit them. "I'm leaving, too," he tells her.

"But the house-" She goes to sit beside him on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.

"There's no more room…" his voice first comes out so quiet and low, but he clears nothing from his throat and speaks stronger. "Me and the boys, we have to get the hell outta this house. I'll put it back on the market. Furniture included. I'll burn it to the goddam ground if I have to. I have to figure my shit out."

She nods once resolutely although she knows he isn't looking at her. "You know I can't wait around until you do."

"You shouldn't." Jax pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it up. "But I want you to."

The plea comes out as clunky and uncaring and even demanding, but it's the most vulnerable he's been since they've known each other. She can't give him an answer right there and then. Not with her ears still ringing from the shot she'd just fired. Not with the mess they'd made between them. She needed to figure out some things of her own.

They settle for sitting in the quiet, content the house was pushing out the unspoken words along with everything else.


End file.
